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“We are all worms, But I do believe that I am a glow worm.”
Winston S. Churchill, Never Give In!: The Best of Winston Churchill's Speeches“No! no! My engagement is with no bride--the worms! the worms expect me! I am a dead man--I have been slain by robbers--my body lies at Wurtzburg--at midnight I am to be buried--the grave is waiting for me--I must keep my appointment!”
Washington Irving, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Stories“It was the day of the worms. That first almost-warm, after-the-rainy-night day in April, when you bolt from your house to find yourself in a world of worms. They were as numerous here in the East End as they had been in the West. The sidewalks, the streets. The very places where they didn't belong. Forlorn, marooned on concrete and asphalt, no place to burrow, April's orphans.”
Jerry Spinelli, Maniac Magee“I think we consider too much the luck of the early bird and not enough the bad luck of the early worm.”
Franklin D. Roosevelt“A worm of fear wriggled in Jaden’s stomach, and the ethereal assuredness he channeled moments before evaporated as the worm burrowed deeper. When he next spoke, his own voice of trapped hysteria broke through, the worm having reached journey’s end.”
Courtney Kirchoff, Jaden Baker“She treats herself as if she is a divine worm born of sand and stone.”
Chuck Wendig, Empire's End“The early bird gets the worm, and the early fox gets the bird.”
Matshona Dhliwayo“They are near the bottom of the food chain - a meal for fish and birds - while humans eat from the top of the food chain, consuming an astonishing array of what lies on the planet. But eventually, even we become food for the worms. Shakespeare saw this connection, writing in Hamlet, "A man may fish with a worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of a fish that hath fed of that worm.”
Amy Stewart“I am a sacrifice bound with cords to the horns of the world's rock altar, waiting for worms. I take a deep breath, I open my eyes. Looking, I see there are worms in the horns of the altar like live maggots in amber, there are shells of worms in the rock and moths flapping at my eyes. A wind from no place rises. A sense of the real exults me; the cords loosen: I walk on my way.”
Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek